


Return to Eregion

by EarendilEldar



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Catharsis, Closure, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Memories, Romance, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-20 18:19:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17627270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarendilEldar/pseuds/EarendilEldar
Summary: The story of Erestor's journey back to what used to be Eregion (and why he was away from Imladris when Thorin's company arrived - see "NB: Never, Ever Leave Lindir" etc).Erestor has not been back to the region of Middle Earth that was so much a part of his life since the day he rode away, taking the three Rings of Power to Lindon for safekeeping.  Now he's come back, seeking closure by facing what's become of Eregion and Ost-in-Edhil and reliving what once was.





	1. Hard Ground

_Eregion, 2941 TA_

“I remember now how much I dislike travel,” Erestor grumbled.

Glorfindel looked over at him with a shake of his head.  “We have had fine weather the entire journey.  Ample rest, more supplies than we’ll need, not the slightest trace of anything untoward across our path.  But you moan.”

“Aye, I do.  If we can enjoy all that good fortune, and yet the travel be miserable, you can see how bad it must be.”

“Well, I think it quite nice to ride out, leisurely, not having drawn steel in days,” Glorfindel said.

“Your sword-arm gets a rest, but at the expense of my back,” Erestor groused.  “Hours upon horseback all day; cold, hard ground at night.  I’m too old for this sort of Elfling errantry.”

Glorfindel laughed merrily.  “Too old!” he scoffed.  “No, you are merely too soft, too comfort-bound.”

“I cannot recollect the last time you forewent a long soak in a hot bath and a very late breakfast after returning from patrols,” Erestor pointed out.

“ _Patrols_ ,” Glorfindel echoed simply.

“And every day sat in my office is a patrol tour of the mind,” Erestor said, tapping his forehead for emphasis.  “Often with orcs.  Even worse, frequently with Wood-elves.  Ergo, I earn my comforts, thank you.  Unless, of course, you should like to try your hand at crafting communications to King Thranduil.”

“Ah.  A fair point,” Glorfindel conceded graciously.  “I would far rather do embassage to Mordor than figure out how to keep his majesty on side.  On the bright side, at least you’ve got a holiday from all that.”

“Until we return and I learn that Lindir has accidentally insulted Himself and we are to expect a shipment of spiders in the coming weeks.”

“Now, Erestor, you mustn’t exaggerate so,” Glorfindel chided.  “You know perfectly well that spiders which dwell in Mirkwood are _of_ Mirkwood, and thus _of_ the King, and being _of_ the King, none else shall have them!”

After a moment, Erestor snickered at that, then chuckled, and finally laughed fully aloud until he was wiping away tears.  “That is only too true!  King Thranduil could hoard utterly anything as long as he was convinced he had some right to it that none other should claim.”

Glorfindel just looked over at Erestor with a grin.  It was a point of honour that he was one of the very few Elves in the whole of Endor who could draw a laugh from the notoriously stern and somber Counselor.  Of course, it was a rare prize only won at the cost of many eye-rolls, frosty glares, acerbic remarks, and the occasional blazing row. 

“You’ve known him quite some time, have you not, the King of the Spider-wood?” Glorfindel asked.

Erestor nodded.  “Since long before that lovely forest was allowed to fall to decay, yes.”

“Think you that was a matter of leadership, or rather the lack of, then?”

“Absolutely,” Erestor answered without hesitation.  “I remember Oropher, his father, who was also a… well, let’s say he liked his own ways best.  But he made the best of those ways, a self-made King, and he understood the importance of maintaining trade and alliances.  His son has no memory of a time when we all dwelt together and were just learning to seek our own lands again, after the fall of Beleriand, depending so on one another.  Thranduil often attended celebrations and feasts at Ost-in-Edhil at the behest of Oropher, but he never seemed to think very highly of us, only tolerated us because trade with us was crucial and highly-sought.  He was haughty to everyone who wasn’t one of his own travelling companions.  And the time he was invited to our Feast of the Games, and walked out in _disgust_ over a new game in which Elves and Dwarves played on the same side….”

“That game sounds rather interesting,” Glorfindel commented.

“It was fantastic.  I rather half-invented it after seeing our friends from Khazad-dûm demonstrate their idea of it.  I suggested having Elves on their teams as well, and it worked brilliantly,” Erestor said wistfully.  “I don’t suppose I shall ever see such match again.  So much of the joy we once had….”

Glorfindel rode closer to Erestor and reached out to clasp his shoulder. 

Erestor shook his head.  “There’s much more of that to come.  The entire purpose of this journey, is it not?”

Glorfindel nodded, then reached for his pack, wondering aloud, “About how far are we now?”

“You needn’t trouble your map.  It may be more than an age now, but a part of me _is_ this land.  Just up over this hill ahead and we will come down into the city.”  Erestor pulled his horse to stop.  “I wonder if you….  That is, I’d like to go on alone from here.”

Glorfindel also stopped and turned back toward Erestor.  He met his gaze for a long moment before nodding.  “You must remain alert, though.  I know you will be walking into many deep, strong memories, but while you once felt safe and home in this land, we are now in the open wild.  Do not take your sword off, not for a moment.  If I bring our Counselor back damaged, Elrond shall find a Balrog and feed me to it.  And my Lord Mandos shall not be pleased to see me return to his halls.”

Erestor managed a wry grin.  “I knew he sent you back for an obnoxion.  Besides, you shall have a long reprieve ere Elrond finds any Balrogs here.”  Erestor dismounted and Glorfindel followed suit, taking the reins Erestor handed him. 

“Erestor, mellon, may Lady Nienna walk with you,” Glorfindel said, wrapping Erestor in a hug. 

“Thank you.  I cannot say how long I shall be.”

“Then take this,” Glorfindel said, drawing off a small horn suspended on a baldric over his shoulder.  “Call if you need me, for any reason.  Otherwise, I will remain here.”

Erestor nodded and slipped on the strap, along with a water-skin, then set off on foot up the hill that sat beside whatever was left of the city he’d helped to build a lifetime ago.

* * *

As he approached the summit of the hill, Erestor studiously kept his eyes on the ground immediately in front of him.  He had no notion what to expect when he finally looked up.  Ost-in-Edhil had been a gleaming, thriving city when he last laid eyes upon it.   Though its fortified walls had been augmented considerably since the revelation of Annatar’s true identity, it was still magnificent and fair, a true glory of Elvendom.  All Erestor had heard since enduring the loss of his other half had been words like “destruction” and “razed” and “decimated”.

Finally Erestor came to a point from which he had no choice but to start downward.  He stood for some while, still staring at the ground at his feet.  Once he lifted his gaze, there would no longer be even the faintest whisper that he could hold memory as present reality.  There before him waited the most physical evidence of the loss of… everything.

Already on the way there, since Hollin Ridge, Erestor had noted how changed was the land of Eregion.  What was once flourishing and wooded, verdant and teeming, sweet. grassy meadows dotted with stands of great holly trees, was now stubbly and rocky, inhospitable and unforgiving terrain. 

Erestor closed his eyes and fixed in his mind the image of Ost-in-Edhil as he remembered seeing it from that same hilltop the day he rode out to Lindon with the Three. He raised his head and after a long moment, opened his eyes.  He closed them again immediately, forcing himself to stifle a cry, lest Glorfindel come running. 

_Ruins_ was the only word for it.  Nothing remained but the shells of some of the towers and a few partially-standing archways that had once been strong gates.  He felt like sinking to the ground and becoming part of the ruins himself.  Eventually, he opened his eyes again and took a step forward, slowly making his way down the hill toward the plateau crowned with the broken teeth of what was once his home.

Just as the land began to slope upward again, Erestor passed a particularly tall holly tree and paused.  Gauging the distance between it and the city’s postern, Erestor circled the tree and found himself walking into the first of the truly realistic memories he’d had so far on this journey.  There had once been a ring of trees here – was it six or maybe nine? – and they grew close together, only just enough space between them to walk into their midst.  It was something of a hallowed place, as much as anything was in the particularly practical land that Eregion had been. 

A few of the trees’ narrow stumps remained imbedded in the ground, but a few were either worn away or had been uprooted and removed.  Either way, there remained only one tree, growing tall and healthy in what seemed to be defiance of the annihilation it had borne witness to so long ago.  Erestor knelt in the middle of what would have been the circle of trees.  On this slope beside their city, many, many nights did Erestor and Celebrimbor spend lying in one another’s arms, watching the stars – most often the ones in each other’s eyes, but sometimes the jewels of Elbereth in the night sky as well.


	2. The Ring of Holly

_Ost-in-Edhil, SA 1260_

That night… it was so vivid, still.  It had been a mild night, late in summer.  All around the city, Elves sat outdoors, talking softly or making sweet music or just resting contentedly.  Erestor and Celebrimbor had taken a light meal together after spending the day making notes for trade agreement revisions.  After supper, Celebrimbor had asked Erestor if he would care to take an evening stroll, and Erestor found himself thinking how funny it was that the Lord of Eregion, one of the most powerful Elves in all Middle-Earth, who could casually discuss adamant, emeralds, rubies, and sapphires in terms like ‘by the barrelful’, should sound so… _shy_ about something as simple as a walk.

As they strolled slowly along the ways of the city, Celebrimbor reached over and sort of half curled his fingers around Erestor’s, in an unspoken question/invitation.  Erestor glanced at Celebrimbor with a smile and closed his hand around Celebrimbor’s.  Celebrimbor smiled back as though he could have sung with joy and squeezed Erestor’s hand in his.

“Will you walk out from the city a way with me?” Celebrimbor asked as they came toward the postern gates.

“I will,” Erestor nodded, “but only if you promise to keep me out all night.”

“That could be arranged,” Celebrimbor grinned, slipping an arm around Erestor’s waist.

Rather predictably, as soon as they were beyond the gates, Celebrimbor’s other arm also found its way around Erestor’s waist and pulled him close.  “Have I told you yet how beautiful you are?” he asked softly.

Erestor felt his heart beating in a way he’d never known before as he leaned in to meet Celebrimbor’s kiss.  “I thought it was a walk you wanted,” Erestor murmured.

“And so it was,” Celebrimbor said, kissing Erestor’s cheek.  “But I also wanted to tell you you’re beautiful.”

For possibly the first time in his life, Erestor found himself not knowing what to say and just ducking his head self-consciously.  Celebrimbor’s fingers caught his chin and gently tipped his face up again for another kiss before catching Erestor’s hand again and leading him onward, further away from the city walls.  Just as the land began to slope downward, funneling toward a short, narrow valley formed by another, higher hill, Celebrimbor diverted them toward a small stand of holly bushes.  There Celebrimbor pulled off and threw down the summer mantel that was _de rigueur_ for the Lord of the land to wear to dinner and other official functions.

“Celeb…,” Erestor hesitated, “that’s a very fine cloak to be lying on in the grass….”

Celebrimbor just reached his hand up, beckoning.  “You should have a fine place to lie beside me.  At least it will be of some good use.”

Finally, Erestor shook his head and took Celebrimbor’s hand, letting himself be pulled down to lie in Celebrimbor’s arms on the hillside, beside the holly.

“This is why I wanted to walk with you,” Celebrimbor said quietly.  “To bring you here, my favourite place in all Eregion.  Do you know, these brushes were growing here just like this, in a perfect ring, when I first came here, looking for a new land to settle?  I knew at once that I wanted to found a city right here, by these trees, and that they should be the symbol of our realm.”

“These trees were growing like this?” Erestor said, looking up at the glossy, dark green leaves.

Celebrimbor nodded.  “In a circle, just as they are.  I know not if perhaps some earlier peoples had made a settlement here and planted them just so, though if they did, they left no trace other than these.  Either way, I took it for a sign and have treasured this place.  Since I came here, I have had no thought other than the keeping and improving of Eregion.”

“You have been a fine leader,” Erestor said, “your care and love of this land and our people -” 

“But my care and love is no longer only that of a leader, Erestor,” Celebrimbor said, stroking Erestor’s cheek, “for I find myself falling so very in love with you.”

As they had walked, anor was making its way lower into the west until now it was just at the horizon and casting a blazing red-gold light over the city of white stone behind them, so that the stone itself almost seemed as a living thing.  Erestor was so spellbound of the sight of the city and Celebrimbor’s words that he was yet again rendered wordless. 

But when words came to him they did not echo the joyful response that his heart felt every time he was near the Lord of Eregion.  Erestor pulled himself away from Celebrimbor and sat up, turning away.

“Eres…?” Celebrimbor murmured behind him, sounding confused and hurt.  “Valar… I apologise.  Maybe it’s a bit too soon for me to be -”

“It’s not, though,” Erestor said quickly, turning to Celebrimbor again, “for I… I feel the same about you, but….  I mustn’t.  I’ve let this go on too long, and it is I who must beg your pardon, I should have told you long ago.  I ought not even have allowed you to give me such a title as Chief Counselor of our realm.”

“I don’t understand, whatever do you mean?  If you care for me… love me, even… then what can ever be wrong?  And I cannot see what any of that has to do with me appointing you the head of the Council.  Certainly, there is no one more suited -”

“Celeb, I’ve not spoken of this since the fall of Gondolin….  Even before, I did not make it known when I could avoid it.”

“Oh, tell me not that there was another to whom your heart still belongs,” Celebrimbor begged anxiously.

Erestor shook his head.  “No, there is no other.”

“And you do care for me?” Celebrimbor asked.

“Aye.  Desperately.”

“Then nothing else matters,” Celebrimbor said with a relieved smile, reaching for Erestor’s hand.

“Who I am matters, Celeb.  _What_ I am.  I am not of… the correct extraction to be so highly placed.”

“Correct extraction?” Celebrimbor repeated, trying to figure out what that could mean. 

Erestor sighed and looked away again.  Clearly, Celebrimbor wasn’t going to let him end this easily.  “You see, I am partly Avarin.  More than that, my mother was close kin to Eöl of Nan Elmoth, though I myself never dwelt there or knew him.”

Celebrimbor said nothing for so long that Erestor began to grow afraid that his next words were going to be vicious.  He couldn’t bring himself to look back and decided it was best if he just left as quickly as he could.  “I’m sorry,” Erestor whispered, moving to rise, “I shouldn’t have kept it from you, especially when you asked me to lead -”

“Oh, you ridiculous, _foolish_ ….”  Celebrimbor grasped Erestor’s arm, but not unkindly.  “How can you possibly think that matters to me?  You know it is not possible for me to conceal anything of my lineage – my own father was a duplicitous, scheming warmonger; my grandfather – Elbereth!  I need not even discuss it!  Erestor… you must never think you are bound to the fate of another because you share their blood.  It is simply not so.  You and you alone determine who you are.  Please, _please_ , my beautiful, clever, caring beloved… you must never, _ever_ think yourself less than anyone because of bloodlines.  I will not have that.”

“You speak very kindly, but….”

“No.  I will not hear objection.  Not unless it be some personal matter between us, and then I would beg you to allow me to correct the situation if I might.  Erestor, I will say it again and I will not prevaricate: I love you.  If you can love me, then, please… do not spurn me.”

“Are you very certain?” Erestor asked quietly.  “Because if you are not, I should rather know now.  I fear that I already begin to love you too much to be parted from you.”

Celebrimbor laughed and pulled Erestor in to hold him.  “Then be not parted from me, but stay with me all your days, and you shall make me the happiest, proudest Elf who has walked the face of Arda.”

* * *

Erestor wept as he knelt there on that ground where he and Celebrimbor had lain so very long ago.  They’d made love together that night, asserting physically the words they’d spoken.  It was, they both were to realise later, the sort of union that starts the work of merging two fëar into one. 

“You were the only one who ever truly saw me,” Erestor whispered, “my beautiful, clever, caring Celebrimbor.”

As he rose and began to slowly make his way toward the ruined city’s non-existent gate, Erestor wondered how many more memories would draw him in so deeply that they seemed to be happening again.


	3. Fire and Ice

As Erestor slowly, reverently but also hesitantly, approached the remains of Ost-in-Edhil, there seemed to be a wisp of memory contained in every stone left standing.  Most were no more than a moment, a glance into the vibrant, lively life he once knew. 

Here he remembered the city full of revelers at a summer festival: smiling, laughing, joyful Elves, and a few happy Dwarves, singing something that was causing those Elves to laugh. 

There he remembered storming into the tailor’s shop one afternoon, thoroughly fed up with accidentally dragging his voluminous robe-sleeves over a freshly drafted parchment – _again_! – and insisting that the Elf drop everything and figure out a new cut that would permit him to work without incurring ink-stained sleeves and smudged letters. 

Just by there had been the magnificent bath houses – oh, how Erestor had loved that hot-spring pool! – and if he lived to see 50,000 summers, he would never forget making love with Celebrimbor in that pool….

The northeast of the city was where the Houses of the Mírdain were located, the smithy forges glowed and hammers rang out, often through night as well as day.  Erestor remembered well one of the few times he’d ever been in that building.

The winter of 1453 of the Second Age was a monstrously cold one, worse even than the Long Winter of recent memory.  Even the Eldar, who were much less affected by weather generally, were struggling to survive the bitter conditions that had besieged them for weeks.  Rations remained sound, for the harvest had been a good one that autumn, but they found themselves woefully unprepared for the cold. 

Every hearth in the city blazed constantly, braziers were set about to supplement warmth wherever they could, and windows and walls were hung with as many tapestries as could be gathered to help block out the icy winds, but it was not enough.  The city’s great feasting hall had been also converted so that many could gather together there to share what warmth they could. 

Erestor had tucked himself away in the deepest part of the archives he could find to escape the draughts.  He wrapped himself into his heaviest cloak, a luxury that many Elves of Eregion never felt they needed, for it was ordinarily a most mild environment.  When a messenger entered the archives and let in a chilled blast of air, Erestor nearly snapped at him until he saw just how relieved the poor Elf was to be out of the draught himself. 

The messenger handed over the letter, explaining that he was asked to deliver it to Master Erestor _and_ Lord Celebrimbor, but thought he’d best give it to _just_ Master Erestor since Lord Celebrimbor was working down in the Houses of the Mírdain (as usual) and Elves who were not smiths themselves very rarely entered those halls.

Erestor thanked him and asked him to stay in the archives as long as he liked, if it was the warmest place he’d been yet that day.  Instead of reading the message straight away, though, Erestor pulled his thick, black, fur-lined cloak close about him and hurried out to the smithies.  Surprisingly, the main doors stood open partly, and as Erestor stepped in, he gathered he knew why – it was as hotter than the hottest summer day inside! 

As Erestor’s eyes adjusted to the particular red glow of the forge workshop, his gaze was drawn, unerringly as ever, to the Elf with the long, dark plait down his bare back, working away at beating a short blade into shape. 

Erestor had forgotten about the letter, had forgotten about the cold, had just about forgotten his own name.  He’d never before seen Celebrimbor at his smith-work and it was a captivating scene to behold.  His lover’s sculpted muscles rippled and flexed with the very work that had formed them over so many years.  Sweat beaded and traced gracefully down his skin, making clean little rivulets through the residues of ash and soot that toned Celebrimbor’s flesh a shade darker.   Erestor stood in awe, until a cold wind at his back shattered his reverie. 

Erestor shivered and reached behind him to pull the door to and shut out the wind.  Immediately feeling the change in the air, every smith in the place turned to look toward the door.  Erestor suddenly felt like the centre of attention and had no idea why he should be.

Celebrimbor carefully set down his work, setting his tongs and hammer neatly aside.  He took a cloth from a nearby bucket of water and drew it over his face, neck, arms, and chest before walking over to Erestor.  “Eres?  Is all well?” Celebrimbor asked, sounding quite confused to find his lover out of context.  

“You mean aside from the weather and all its attendant difficulties?” Erestor said dryly.  “Yes, I should think so.  However, we’ve had a message from Durin.  I haven’t read it, I thought you should first.”

“You do not think it ill news, do you?” Celebrimbor said, hesitating to break the seal. 

“Not having the gift of foresight, I cannot say,” Erestor shrugged. 

As Celebrimbor opened the letter and began to read it (slowly, for the Tengwar script did not come naturally to the hand of one used to writing more geometric runes), the fair-haired, highly-skilled Valarian emissary who came and went frequently from Eregion approached and stepped behind Erestor, saying, “Your pardon, Master Counselor, but we leave these doors open for a reason.  As you can tell, the forges run quite hot.”

“Indeed, I can tell, Lord Annatar, though it be a wonder for I thought I might never feel warmth again this winter,” Erestor said, just about managing to keep the bite from his tone.

Annatar just smiled solicitously, pushing the door open again, and returned to his smithy. 

“Praise Aulë,” Celebrimbor murmured, having taken no notice of the brief but tense exchange.

“Why, what’s he done?” Erestor asked absently, still not taking his slightly narrowed eyes from Annatar. 

Celebrimbor raised his voice to be heard over the clanging of hammers.  “My brothers!  We have aid unlooked for – our dearest ally, King Durin the Third, is at this very moment assembling wagons of furs and skins to send to us, along with loads of coal and cords of wood for fuel.  He says here that a team of his men will help us in lining our walls and floors for warmth to see us through until the weather changes.  He reminds us, too, that the doors of Moria are ever open to the Elves of Eregion and that should we need to seek shelter - ‘underground, like _sensible_ folk’, he says! – we must not hesitate to call upon them at once.”

A cheer went up from the smiths, accompanied by a chorus of their hammers ringing out on their anvils.  Erestor felt he was witnessing the secrets of a deeply mysterious rite and wondered if, now he’d seen this smith’s display of affirmation, he was bound to be inducted into their order and spend the rest of his own days at forges and anvils. 

“I must quickly make ready for their arrival,” Celebrimbor said, going to fetch his jerkin and cloak.  “Could someone please close down my smithy for the day?  Apologies to Lord Aulë,” Celebrimbor said, reverently touching his anvil, “but I am in greatest haste.”

“I shall see to it, my Lord,” said the Elf nearest to Celebrimbor’s own worksite. 

“My thanks, Govannen,” Celebrimbor said, touching his own shoulder.  “Come, Eres, let us make preparations,” he said, slinging his cloak over his shoulder and hurrying out. 

Erestor cast a last look about the hall, wondering at this secret world right in the midst of their city and why they could not use the heat of this place to somehow thaw the winter.  As his glance passed Annatar, however, he decided to quit the place and follow Celebrimbor quickly.

“There you are,” Celebrimbor said as Erestor caught him up.  “Come, let us not tarry out here.  I think even I shall prefer a swim in your hot pool to bathing in the Sirannon this day.”

Erestor just rolled his eyes and pulled Celebrimbor into the Lord’s House and toward the nearest hearth.   He wanted to say something about disliking the way Annatar looked at Celebrimbor, let alone the faint glare he always regarded Erestor with, but Celebrimbor pulled Erestor into his arms and held him close. 

“We shall see this winter through, my Eres,” Celebrimbor murmured, his lips close beside Erestor’s ear.  “I know it has been a trial and we are all strained by it.  But together with our friends, we and our people will meet the challenge, as ever.”

“Aye.  Though I never doubted it,” Erestor said, nodded, tucking his chilled nose against Celebrimbor’s still-warm neck.

Celebrimbor chuckled softly and handed Durin’s letter back to Erestor.  “Read the last line,” he said, smirking.

Erestor took a moment, muttering, “Would that he just wrote us in Khuzdul so I might decipher his meaning.  He says….”  Erestor’s eyes widened and he took a step back, fixing Celebrimbor with a look.  “Exactly what proportion of Middle Earth does know the details of our intimate life, _my love_?”

Celebrimbor just laughed and pulled Erestor close to him again.  “I assure you, no _details_ are known.  But they have eyes, haven’t they, Eres?  It must surely be as clear as Anor at Mid-summer that we are as one.  And anyway, he is correct, you and I have no need of extra furs for our bed even on the coldest of nights.”

* * *

As Erestor moved on from the slighted remains of the Houses of the Mírdain, he looked about, picking out bits of pieces of structures and realizing how little was left.  It was strange, he thought, that he should remember the Elf who offered to take care of Celebrimbor’s forge that day.  Govannen had survived the sack of Ost-in-Edhil and dwelt now still in Imladris, but through the many years, Erestor had kept his distance from most who he’d known in the days of Eregion.  He decided to amend that when he returned to the valley.  Perhaps he might even bear talking about his memories of Celebrimbor with one who also worked closely with him. 

Looking up, Erestor realised that the tallest tower, that of the Lord’s House, still stood, though only just by the look of it.  He wondered if it wasn’t perilous to walk under it, through the foundations of that home he’d shared with his beloved not even half a century.  Structurally perilous, no doubt, but emotionally perilous as well.  By that time, Erestor had no such fears as Glorfindel had cautioned about this ‘open wild’.  If some party of orcs was to take and kill him here, then perhaps it was only what was destined to come of his cathartic journey.

There, Erestor sat down on a toppled down segment of wall.  It would have been a south wall, he judged, and so possibly the very stones that comprised Celebrimbor’s private chambers.  For what seemed hours, he remained right there, lost in a sea of memories so thick they swam together into a wave and overwhelmed him.


	4. Strength in Weakness

Erestor sat there upon the fallen wall for what must have been hours.  It was mid-morning when they arrived and now shadows were growing long, the westering sunlight casting the dark wraiths of Ost-in-Edhils remains against the hills behind the city, towering higher than the city ever had in life. 

Part of him wondered that Glorfindel had not yet grown impatient and come looking for him, but he also knew Glorfindel’s word was his bond – when he said that he would remain on the other side of the hill unless Erestor called for him, that was just what he would do.  But Erestor could not stay much longer as it was, surrounded, wallowing even, in the muddled miasma of memories here.

As he slowly moved to rise, though, he brushed his hand over a stone which wobbled a bit, and loosed another spirit of memory from its stone prison.

* * *

_Ost-in-Edhil, 1679 SA_

“For the last time, this accomplishes nothing!” Erestor snapped, snatching away the map that Celebrimbor had been staring at for nearly two hours, plotting the movements of wars so old likely even Cirdan of Lindon remembered them not. 

Celebrimbor’s eyes burned a dark sapphire as he jumped up and grabbed the map back.  “I am attempting to prepare for the defense of my people!” he shouted.

“No, you are attempting to fool yourself into believing that battles fought 8,000 years ago have any relation to anything occurring right now.  It is all different now, and _this_ ,” Erestor said, wresting the map away again, “is doing nothing but feeding your self-indulgent fretting!  If you want to prepare the defenses, get back to your smithy and beat swords.”

“I indulge myself _nothing_ and I no longer have any smithy!” Celebrimbor raged.  “I will not return to the place where this all began, the very cause of our present misfortune.”

“Then go help the stonewrights strengthening our walls, but do not dare to sit here and say you’re doing anything of _use_ ,” Erestor hissed.

Celebrimbor stared hard at Erestor but was profoundly silent for several long moments.  “I never thought this impending war would tear us apart even before it broke,” he said lowly, wasting no more time in leaving the council chambers.

Erestor felt pierced to the core and sank down into the chair Celebrimbor had occupied.  He gritted his teeth but could not staunch the tears that slipped out.   He’d never meant to speak so cuttingly, he knew the weight his lover had been bearing, especially since they’d all become aware of who Annatar really was.

The fact was, none of them knew what they were going to end up being up against, or just when.  For as much as Eregion felt already besieged, there had as yet been no overt sign of movement from Mordor.  If anything, though, that made the tension so much worse.  When put together with the alarming reduction in trade revenue and general distrust of any unknown visitors, they might as well be under siege.

Erestor had grown snappish and impatient, watching helplessly as his carefully crafted diplomacies disintegrated about him.  Celebrimbor had grown grim and brooding, abandoning his forge and spending far too much time perseverating on all the forms war against Sauron might take.

Finally, Erestor pushed himself away from his desk and went to find Celebrimbor.  He couldn’t bear to leave harsh words between them.

He hadn’t expected to find Celebrimbor so easily.  He’d gone to their bedchamber to fetch a cloak, but had no need of it.  That’s where his lover was, sat on the long bench at the foot of the bed, hunched forward with his face buried in his hands.  His occasional short gasps suggested that he did not realise he had company. 

Erestor stood by the door from their sitting room, feeling too stung to enter and too aware that he’d done the stinging to both of them.  Only the longer he stood there, the more it hurt, until his own eyes burned again with tears.

In two steps, Erestor was knelt in front of Celebrimbor, his hands gently clasping Celebrimbor’s muscular arms.  “I’m sorry,” Erestor whispered.

Celebrimbor startled and turned his face away quickly.  “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he whispered raggedly.  “You were correct.  It is I who am sorry.  Sorry and weak and useless to all who depend upon me to keep them safe.”

Instantly, Erestor moved to sit beside Celebrimbor and pull him into his arms.  “Stop that at once,” he said gently but firmly.  “There is nothing weak or useless about you.”

Celebrimbor had tried half-heartedly to pull away, but then looked sharply back at Erestor.  “You deny the evidence of your own eyes?  See you not the Lord of Eregion sat here, weeping openly, instead of marshalling forces and building walls and stocking armouries?”

Erestor reached over to stroke Celebrimbor’s cheek and wipe away a tear.  “That is not weakness.  It’s grief.  It’s fear of the awaiting unknown.  Do you imagine that there is a single person in this land who has not wept these same tears?  Why should you be exempt?”

“Because I have a duty to protect them!” Celebrimbor said desperately.  “But I cannot, yet.  And worse… _I_ am the _cause_ of their peril.”

“You are not -”

“Why was I ever so proud as to think for a moment that I could lead our people to a new land and build a place of safety and beauty and peace and preservation?  Knew I not full well the Doom laid upon all sons of my accursed family?!”

Erestor pulled Celebrimbor close to him again and just held him.  He didn’t know what to say to ease these doubts and fears and it saddened him deeply.  And maybe in the end there was nothing he could say, but one thing came to mind.  “Many years ago, when we were just coming to know one another, I was ashamed to tell you of my bloodline.  You told me that I should never think myself bound to the fate of another or less than anyone because of my blood.  I think those words should apply to you, as well.  You are not your grandfather, nor your father, nor your unrepentant uncles.  You are Celebrimbor.  Strong and brave and loyal and so very noble.  I don’t know if my saying any of that helps, and I know I can’t take away your grief and fear, not when I bear them, too.  But I love you, Celeb, and I will forever.  As far as I’m concerned, there is nothing in Endor or Eldamar or the Encircling Seas that can ever tear us apart.”

Suddenly, desperately, Celebrimbor wrapped his arms around Erestor in turn.  “I love you forever, Eres.  As long as I have you, I have lost nothing.  Please, _please_ forgive my shouting earlier.”

“My words were harsher than your tones, mela.  If you can forgive me, I certainly forgive you.”

“Then let us not argue again,” Celebrimbor said, pulling back just enough to look at his beloved.

“Agreed,” Erestor nodded, pressing forward to formalize their treaty with a kiss.

* * *

As the sun began to sink lower, the ruins about Erestor were now covered in more shadows than they were casting.  He knew he needed to get back to Glorfindel soon and that there was likely no question of them doing any riding before making camp.  With a sigh, Erestor’s gaze returned to the broken threshold of the Houses of the Mírdain.  According to what Ereinion Gil-galad had relayed to him an age ago, that was where Celebrimbor had made his final stand against Sauron, refusing to allow him entry to the place from which Morgoth’s servant had once meant to ingratiate himself to the Elves of Eregion. And there where Celebrimbor was overpowered, tortured, and killed.

It surprised Erestor that he had been able to keep that knowledge from his thoughts so far, and that he really felt rather passive about looking upon that place.  He’d thought surely that was what would lay him low on this journey, and was the primary reason he’d asked Glorfindel not to walk this far with him. 

But after all these years, the fact of Celebrimbor’s defeat did not hold as much terror for Erestor as the uncertainty of his future.  Could he possibly be bound to the Curse of Mandos after all?  When he’d done nothing in his life that had ever echoed the treacheries of Fëanor or Curufin?

Erestor was beginning to understand that he could not forever deny his own need to seek the Undying Lands eventually.  The world was so much changed and it was impossible not to notice that Elven life in Middle-earth was coming to a close.  But would he ever find the solace and ease it was said was the very air of Valinor if he could never again see and hold the one he loved?

Looking westward, Erestor whispered, “See the good in him, please, Lord Námo, for that’s all there ever was.”

As Erestor slowly made his way out of what was the city, something caught his attention near the lone holly tree where the circle had been.  A white and grey bird stood upon the ground, a sprig of holly leaves in its beak.  Realising it was spotted, the bird jumped up and took flight to the southwest. 

Whatever had a seagull been doing so far inland? Erestor wondered.  He’d not seen one since he’d left Lindon to come live at Imladris.

As Erestor came up over the hill, he saw down below a crackling fire and a provisional shelter, two horses grazing nearby, and a fair Elf who glowed just a bit more than most resting against the bole of a tree.  Turning, he stood for a long moment looking back at his slighted city.  He bowed his head, touching his fingertips to his forehead, then his heart, and finally started back down the hill toward camp.

Glorfindel looked up as he approached.  He said nothing but held out a bottle of miruvor to Erestor.

Erestor took it with a nod of gratitude and sat down beside Glorfindel just as wordlessly. 


End file.
